


Perfect Restraint

by UNFKNBLVBL



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25241887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UNFKNBLVBL/pseuds/UNFKNBLVBL
Summary: Harry Potter is in Draco Malfoy's room! Never in their wildest dreams could they have imagined that this would be happening. It is often hard to let the past go, however, in this case it is most certainly for the best.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 34





	Perfect Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all,  
> This is my very first fanfic ever! I have loved writing this story, and if it is worthy I am hoping to continue to write more fanfics.  
> I felt like the name of this story fits perfectly, because I have shown immense restraint in holding back, although it has been quite difficult at times ...I just love smut, and it was a challenge I embraced! In saying that, I'm sorry it is so short: I knew that if it continued it would have changed in to something quite raunchy. Sometimes less is best (as they say ..I guess, haha)  
> Also, I have a terrible memory, so I'm sure there will be plenty of mistakes and things that don't align with Rowling's books, so apologies in advance.  
> And, please, I encourage constructive criticism. Give it to me!  
> Thank you so much for your time <3
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> Harry Potter does not belong to me, it belongs to JK Rowling. I do not make money out of this.

Draco Malfoy sat on the edge of a black leather futon and peered over his left shoulder at Harry behind him, who had casually sprawled on it comfortably, and was currently observing his surroundings of Malfoy’s bedroom décor.

Draco's well practiced posture hid the nervousness and anticipation that would surely drive him to insanity if he so much as dared to let his guard down. Draco's heart hammered wildly inside his chest like the thundering hooves of a centaur, and he forced his breathing to remain a naturally rhythmic pattern.

Not surprisingly, Harry had not appeared to notice Draco's inward battle, so Draco took this moment to carefully study his visitor.  
Harry Potter was here, in his bedroom. And he looked divine.  
Harry wore his unusual muggle clothes that Draco found both extremely odd yet strangely attractive on the man. They matched Harry's free spirit and non nonchalance attitude, and deliciously hugged Harry's muscular build.  
How Draco wanted to reach out and run his hands along every inch of Potter's body, to feel it against his own physique.

Draco's reverie was suddenly disrupted by Harry's friendly chatter.  
“Nice set-up you have here, Malfoy.” He obliviously grinned at the blond man in front of him.  
Draco was still not used to seeing Harry so relaxed and care free in his own presence. Gone was the scorn and hostility - that was shown more often than not during their younger years - flashing in those green eyes.  
They now stared at him with interest and curiosity.

“Thank you.” Draco replied, keeping his voice even by speaking in his regular formal tone.

Harry really was quite intrigued by his surroundings. The large room was immaculate and expensively furnished: decorated in shimmering silvers, deep greens and blacks: from the extravagant furniture, to elegant drapes that framed the windows, to the exquisite linen that adorned the enormous four-poster-bed in front of them.  
Trophies lined up along black shelves on the walls, and several beautiful artefacts - which harry presumed were family heirlooms - hung in other areas. A large rug embroidered with the Slytherin emblem added colour to the dark floor boards.

Slytherin, through and through. Harry thought to himself with an inward chuckle.

Never, in his most wildest dreams, would he have imagined sitting here in this room, with his arch-nemesis, and on positive terms of all things!  
It was true, they did not get off on a good start; things had spiralled out of control since their first encounter at Madam Malkin's many years ago, and during their time at Hogwarts.  
The moment Draco had insulted Ron and his family on that day long ago, Harry had lost all respect for the little blonde ponce. From then on every time Harry had felt the slightest inkling of any sort of desirable or affectionate feelings towards Malfoy, he had pushed them away, fuelled by a nasty animosity that instead filled it’s place, and spurred his hatred for this arrogant git.  
However, things had changed after school and once the war was over.  
Harry realised the effect things had had on Draco - like many that had also endured those terrible times - and saw a different side to him. Yes, the man was calculating, conceited and an infuriating perfectionist, but Harry had witnessed the change that had taken place within Draco after the Dark Lord was defeated: He still acted like a pompous prick sometimes, but the hate for Harry had dissipated completely.  
To begin with there had been a polite tolerance towards each other, and, over time, they had formed a mutual understanding and respect for one another.

And now, here they were. Fully grown men in their early twenties, sitting in Draco’s room at Malfoy Manor.  
The flirting had been going on for a little while – subtly at first – until Harry had mustered up his Gryffindor courage to visit Draco at the mansion.

Harry looked at Draco’s stiff form and summoned that courage up once again.  
“Get your ass over here, Malfoy.” Hoping he sounded playful-casual, Harry smiled as he patted the cool, smooth surface beside him.

Draco looked in Harry's direction and shrugged. Forgiving Harry for his lack of tact, and scooted himself beside his guest, propping himself up on his arm.  
Harry’s grin melted Draco's apathetic exterior, and he felt himself returning the smile.

Draco, being a ponderer and the intelligent wizard that he was, knew exactly why he held back a little from Harry’s advances; it had taken a long time for Draco to realise, and accept, that deep down Draco Malfoy was scared - fearful of his feelings that had developed and become unbearably intense towards his enemy. His contempt for Harry had not ever masked his true infatuation for the dark haired, green eyed boy. Draco had thought that it would become easier over time to hate Harry, but it became clear to Draco that his jealousy of the attention the Chosen One received were only small factors of the bigger picture. The core reason for his loathing was because of this all-consuming and constant interest in Harry that Malfoy simply could not quell no matter how desperately he tried.

Now, seeing Harry lying there beside him – so flamboyant and carefree – relaxed Draco somewhat, and he convinced himself that this was a good thing.  
He felt his walls slowly crumbling down, and was surprisingly not alarmed.  
After thinking about this particular detail for a moment, he became aware that he felt safe with Harry; he trusted this man, and Draco took pleasure in this new revelation that was beginning to blossom in his stony heart.

Harry saw Draco’s tension visibly seeping away, and he decided to do something that he had wanted to do for quite some time.  
Reaching up, he stroked his fingers through Draco’s hair.  
Being the muggle-reared wizard that Harry was he always had the assumption that Draco’s hair would be rigid and wiry, as if tamed by gel and stiffened with hair spray.  
Oh, how wrong he had been. Draco’s hair was the softest thing he had ever felt. Feeling it slip through his fingers Harry believed it was even more silky and luscious than Fawkes' feathers.  
He suspected it was magically styled in the slicked back fashion which Draco had used ever since Harry could remember.

Draco gave an amused “harrumph”, and allowed Potter to fondle his golden locks. Surprisingly, he quite liked it, and was not at all concerned that his hair would now be in complete disarray.

Harry watched in fascination as Draco lost his battle to sustain eye contact. Closing his eyes – a smile touching his lips – Draco succumbed to Harry’s touch. 

Harry’s gaze shifted to his own fingers as he very slowly glided them down the side of Draco’s face, lightly over his cheek, and then along his sharp jawline, causing Draco’s breath to suddenly hitch.  
Harry’s eyes snapped up to Draco’s then, which were now boring in to him, heat-filled and more silvery-blue than Harry had ever seen them.

The smoothness of Harry's boxers caressed his groin as it tightened in his pants, pushing at the silky fabric that contained him. He did not see, but felt Draco’s jaw slightly clench stubbornly, as he watched this beautiful man fight to maintain control. This was not a sight Harry got to experience often, especially now that they had matured in to adults and Draco was more even-tempered and magnanimous.  
Over the years at Hogwarts, Harry had learnt – and often admired – Draco's ability to control his own emotions, facial expressions, movement and posture.  
Today was clearly no exception, Draco appeared to be his usual restrained self, and despite the struggle Harry saw in Draco's eyes, the man in front of him remained motionless.  
This worked well for Harry: despite his urge to start tearing at Draco's clothes and not stop there, he also longed to explore this sexy man, and really drag out this moment. He knew it would be worth it in the end.

Harry made a mental note of this particularly sensitive area on Draco’s jaw. Oh, how he was going to have fun with that later, however, for now he needed to try and think sensibly.  
Harry tore away his gaze from Malfoy and continued to feel his way down Draco’s pale neck; his fingers lingering on his carotid pulse. Harry liked how strong and fast it felt under his fingertips, and he resisted the urge to feel it vibrating beneath his lips. Instead, Harry carried on and traced around Draco’s collarbone that proudly jutted out from under the gentle dip of his lower neck above Draco’s bottle-green, open shirt collar.

Sitting himself upright, Harry reached out to start unfastening the black buttons on the silky shirt, when suddenly Draco’s hand was at one of Harry’s wrists in a flash, gripping him in a vice-like hold. Years of Quidditch practice had given the Slytherin fast reflexes and enhanced strength.

Once again, Harry’s eyes locked with those pools of silver. The heat in them was still present, but this time they revealed a hint of …fear? Harry was confused, but paused his actions nonetheless.

“May I?” Harry asked quietly, desperate to continue, but aware of Draco’s unexpected change in demeanour. 

Draco gazed into the shining emerald orbs that silently pleaded with him, urging trust.  
After a brief moment of contemplation, Malfoy nodded, and a perfectly practiced mask plastered his beautiful features: his eyes becoming slightly stony and distant.

Draco knew that he could not hide the past, not if he wanted to pursue whatever this was between himself and Potter.

Harry grinned at the man sitting before him, and began unbuttoning the shirt. He then slipped his hands under the fabric and peeled it off over Draco’s toned shoulders.

As the shirt fell on to the futon behind Draco, Harry suddenly recoiled as he perceived the sight that beheld him.

Straggled across Draco’s chest and torso were three snow-white, and quite substantial, scars. Harry stared in horror, his face deathly white, as realisation hit him like a hard blow to the face: he himself, Harry James Potter, had done this to Draco. How could he be so stupid and forget such an important and traumatising event that had literally scarred Draco physically – and undoubtedly mentally too – for life?

Images of that day flashed in to Harry’s mind.  
Malfoy's shuddering figure at the bathroom sink; the torment in his voice when he spoke to Myrtle; embarrassment and rage burning in his teary gaze as he glared at Harry.  
Their jinxes and hexes flashing brightly in the dimly lit bathroom.  
Harry's scream rang in his ears, haunting him once again “Sectumsempra!”.  
Then blood. Blood everywhere. And the fear in Draco's eyes, he knew he was dying.

Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He suddenly felt quite ill..

“Harry,” Draco spoke quietly, and Harry opened his eyes to meet Draco’s; he had never heard his first name spoken from those lips like this before: gentle and kind. “It was a long time ago.” Draco said simply.  
He did not like how stricken Harry looked. His own feelings of pride and embarrassment faded, as Draco recognised the look of shame and regret on this man’s troubled face.

Tears welled in Harry’s eyes, threatening to spill over. Malfoy did not smirk or even consider those tears as a weakness, like he may have years ago. Instead, his heart softened towards the Gryffindor, and a strange feeling of compassion washed over him.  
The past was meant to stay in the past, and Draco had forgiven Harry long ago.

Without knowing where it came from, Draco mustered up the courage to do something that would either send Harry running to the door, or convince him to stay and let be what is already done.

Drawing closer to his guest, and balancing on his knees, Draco leaned forward and sought Harry’s lips.  
He closed his eyes as he found them, and melted when Harry responded, who raised himself up too, returning Draco's kiss in full.  
Harrys lips were plump and moist, and he tasted of sweet honey and cinnamon.

Malfoy felt desire course through his body, and his arousal reared its head again beneath his slacks. He drew his left hand up to Potter’s face, feeling the soft, smooth skin. Deepening the kiss, he slid the tip of his tongue into Harry’s sultry mouth, exploring and tasting him.  
Harry groaned and gripped Draco’s hips, pulling them both closer together.  
Draco felt Harry’s hard erection, even through those strange pants with the tough material that muggles often wore. Jeans, he thought they were called.  
A burning desire to tear away at Harry’s clothes was pushed to other regions of Draco’s mind as he forced himself to maintain self control.

Exercising perfect restraint – and banishing the temptation to fuck Potter right here and now – Draco gently released their lips and pulled away, still close enough to feel Harry’s delicious breath on his own lips.

“Touch me again …please?” Draco whispered hoarsely, and a tiny part of him still feared – as he had before his shirt was removed – that Potter might not want to touch him.

Harry did not need to be asked twice. He rested each of his hands on Draco’s shoulders, gently pushing him back down to a sitting position so that they were both facing each other.  
Harry’s eyes roamed over Draco’s body: Malfoy was slim, Harry noticed, but visibly strong and athletic. His toned muscles sloped and descended in all the right places, and Harry’s eyes hungrily fed on the sight in front of him, scars and all.  
Harry stretched his arm out across the small distance between them and gently stroked his fingertips over each of the scars, meticulously caressing each one as if in apology.

Draco silently watched Harry with interest. He enjoyed observing the different emotions that continuously flickered over Harry’s handsome features.  
Nothing much had changed within the man before him: Harry was the same adventurous, outgoing, irrational Gryffindor that he always had been. He was still the loyal and overly-responsible wizard that had defeated the Dark Lord.

And now, seeing Harry overcome with emotion could only mean that Harry cared somewhat.  
Draco was not surprised by this. It was in Harry's nature, and it was only natural for Potter to let his emotions show so blatantly.  
What did astonish Draco, though, was the reciprocated feelings he felt towards this man.

Continuing from where he left off, Harry brushed Draco’s jaw again; enjoying the shudder that raked itself through his host's body.  
His fingers swept in a slow motion, exploring downwards over Malfoy’s smooth, sloping neck: his pulse unquestionably elevated and vigorous.  
Moving on, Harry watched in fascination as his digits rose and fell with the concaves of bone and muscle: Draco’s protruding collar bones, taut pecks, the contour of his ribs, and firm abs.

Draco watched Harry through pale lashes; eyes hooded with lust but not wanting to break this sensual moment and lunge at his ex-nemesis.

Before Harry had the chance to carry on with his expedition towards Draco's nether regions, Draco interrupted the moment by placing his hands gently on Harry's hips, and slipping them up under his T-shirt.

Harry understood what Draco wanted and decided to hurry the process. He crossed his arms  
in front of him – gripping the bottom of his white T-shirt in each hand – and slid it off in one fluent motion, tossing it to his side.

Now it was Draco's turn to do the exploring. His eyes roamed over Potter.  
Like himself, Harry was immensely passionate about quidditch. It was a mutual interest that they both shared, and more recently, enjoyed discussing. And it was clear that training had improved Harry's physique too, Malfoy approved of what he saw: Harry was a few inches shorter, and still had the same stocky build, however, as he aged he had filled out somewhat. Draco's eyes wandered over Harry's powerful shoulders and biceps. Veins ran along his forearms like twisting streams, forking at various intervals. Images of those veins bulging as they gripped Draco's hips taunted him as his imagination ran wild ...so, he deliberately averted his eyes to Harry's torso: taking in the pecs and firm abs in front of him – that were slightly more prominent than his own – Draco reached out and softly rubbed his thumb over Harry's right nipple.

Harry felt adrenaline suddenly spike through his veins, and his body tingled with heat. It was almost painful as Malfoy let his fingers glide down to Harry's belly button, and then down his happy trail.  
He couldn’t see past the thick fog that was clouding his mind as Malfoy’s fingers left a burning trail of desire over his hot skin.

Draco noticed Harry's breathing increasing and pupils dilate, and he wondered if he should continue down further ..but before he could make a decision, Harry had grabbed his face, and their lips locked.  
Lust instantly coursed through Draco's body, and he gave as much as he received.

Years of tension between them went in to that kiss: it was rough, full of need and passion.

Draco moaned and hooked his fingers on to the top of Harry's jeans, pulling him in closer.

The close proximity of Draco's fingers sent Harry's heartbeat in to overdrive and he struggled to think rationally.  
Fuck it, Harry thought, and he broke the connection.  
He slid across to the edge of the futon, and, standing, he took his host's hand and pulled Draco up with him.

Harry's eyes were smouldering, and a sly grin settled on his swollen, pink lips.  
Draco smiled back: he wanted Harry, more than he had ever wanted anyone in his life.

He lifted his hand up to Potter's face, and traced the lightning bolt on his forehead, before skimming his hand through the mop of messy black hair – gently gripping it in his fingers – and claiming those lips once again.

The urge that threatened to tear free – and release the animalistic need that burned and tore through his body – was incredibly intense, and Draco finally gave in to his carnal desire.

Malfoy hungrily devoured Potter's mouth as he guided Harry across the room – the pair of them still in each others embrace – and carefully led them to the edge of his bed.

As they both sank in to the soft mattress – blissfully unaware of anything else but this very moment in time – their kiss deepened...


End file.
